WORTHY, Part 1 (15 page)

“Now, let’s see about this unpacking,” Lucy said, hoisting my backpack up. “You’re a light packer.”

“Please, I feel weird that you’re going to unpack my bag,” I said, dropping my fork on the plate. “Let me just take care of it.”

Lucy held the backpack out of my reach. “And I feel weird that you’re going to stop eating breakfast to do my job,” she said. “Relax. This way, I can help you figure out what you’re going to need to get when we go shopping.”

Without further ado, she dumped out the contents of my backpack over the end of the bed, swiftly separating and folding my clothes. When she was done—in record speed—the sum of my belongings were pathetic piles at my feet.

“You’re going to need everything,” Lucy observed gamely.

“Jonathan did tell me to get a whole new wardrobe,” I muttered. When we were leaving the cottage, it’d made sense to not take that much. All I needed were a few sweaters and a couple of pairs of jeans—as well as changes of underwear. I figured there would be a washer and dryer here. But faced with the opulence of the compound and the fact that my future husband’s closet was practically the size of the cottage, I had to admit that I was out of my league wardrobe-wise. I needed help, and fast.

“Well, let’s get going soon,”
I said finally. “I’m meeting Jonathan back here at noon, and I’m supposed to have clothes to show for it.”

Lucy’s eyes roamed over the clothing I’d brought here. “Would you like to see if I can find anything that might fit you to wear out today?” she asked. “You might be able to wear something off Miss Jane’s.”

Jane. Jonathan’s sister.

“Do you think she’d mind?” I wondered. I hadn’t been looking forward to another shabby sweater and jeans day.

“She doesn’t have to know,” Lucy said with a smile, and I realized I was going to start appreciating the discretionary skills of the staff.

I dried and styled my hair into a loose braided side bun with tendrils that partly covered the
right side of my face. Maybe the casual passer-by might not even notice my scarring. But anyone doing direct business with me—retail clerks and assistants—would definitely see it. You couldn’t help it.

Lucy slipped back into the room with a bundle of clothing for me to try on.

“Do you think we could start out at a cosmetics store?” I asked her, sorting through the pile to find something I liked.

“Of course,” Lucy said. “We can start out anywhere you like.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been shopping,” I said. “I don’t know the stores anymore, so you’re going to have to be my guide.”

“We’ll do just fine,” she said. “Now, get dressed
, and I’ll meet you downstairs.” She carried my breakfast tray out, and I selected a pair of leggings, a dark shirt, and a wraparound poncho. It seemed very fashion forward to me, but also subdued. There was no reason to draw any more attention to myself than necessary.

All I had to my name was my own bank account card, a very old ID
—the photo taken before I’d gotten my scar—and Jonathan’s credit card. I didn’t even have a wallet to put them in.

I went downstairs and was relieved to see Lucy ready to go
—and not wearing her apron.

“I can carry those for you,” she said, holding her hand out for the cards I clutched.

“I guess we get to go purse shopping, too,” I said.

“You need lots of things, but we’ll manage,” she said. “And you look very elegant. Are you ready?”

Was I ready? No. I was nowhere near ready for this. But if I had any hope of trying to fit in here at the Wharton compound, any hope of giving things a try in Jonathan’s life, I had to do it.

“Yes.”

The compound was in a posh area of town, and we weren’t too far away from the Miracle Mile—shop after shop of high fashion boutiques and retailers. If I’d been given good directions, I probably could’ve walked it myself. But Lucy and the driver were like security blankets. I felt I could camouflage myself in them.

“I grabbed these for you, as well,” Lucy said a little hesitantly, holding out an obscenely large pair of sunglasses. They were dark and covered nearly half my face. I felt instantly better with them on. I realized they concealed the majority of my scar.

“That’s very thoughtful,” I said.

Our first stop was, as requested, the cosmetics store. Music with a thumping, almost obnoxious beat blasted from speakers, and row after row of all colors and styles of cosmetics glittered before us.

Immediately, an employee was on hand, her eye shadow painted on in frightfully loud colors.

“How can we help you today?” she asked. “Looking to replace something you’ve run out of? Maybe a new perfume?”

“She needs everything,” Lucy said briskly.

“And some advice,” I said. “I don’t really wear makeup
—never really had to until now.”

“Ooh, a makeover,” the employee said, rubbing her hands together gleefully. “Well, take those dark glasses off and let’s see what we’re working with.”

I bit my lip but slowly complied, watching the employee’s expression change from delight to horror in half a second. I wanted to die, to simply curl up in a ball and die. This was exactly what I was afraid of.

“We can always go somewhere a little more professional than this,” Lucy snapped
—a warning to the employee. It was like saying,
from one service worker to another, get your shit together
. I could’ve hugged her if I didn’t think she’d flinch away from me.

“No, no,” the employee said quickly, struggling to interpret the situation. “We have everything you need right here. Just hop up in this chair.”

I did as she asked and squinted as she turned on a bright light. It illuminated every flaw on my face, and I hated looking at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t get away from that damn scar, couldn’t escape the effect it had on me or other people.

“We’ll start out with some light foundation,” the employee said, swallowing as she gathered her weapons. “Something to even out the tone.”

But when she dabbed some liquid on a sponge and held it to the right side of my face, I cringed away.

“Miss Michelle, let her,” Lucy said, but I shook my head and grabbed the sponge.

“I’ll do it,” I said. “Just tell me how.” I couldn’t stand to have someone touch it when they were so clearly disgusted by it. I couldn’t even stand to let the love of my life touch it.

“Just sweep it lightly over your entire face,” the employee said, her voice quavering a little bit.

I did as she told me, pleased when the pinkness of the right side of my face eased. The scar was still there, clear as day, but at least the color wasn’t as livid. Now, if people glanced at me, they might not see it at first. The scar’s redness helped draw attention to it.

After careful application of concealer and a dusting of powder to set it all, I was feeling a little more confident. The employee selected a few wild shades of eye shadow for me to try, but I ended up using
a more subdued metallic to make the green of my eyes pop. With a few sweeps of mascara and some quick brow maintenance, we were all three smiling at one another’s reflections.

“We’ll take everything we used today,” Lucy said, “brushes, applicators, and all. Two of everything.”

“That’s too much,” I protested, but Lucy shook her head.

“I’ll get everything together right away,” the employee said, bustling around the store.

I studied myself in the mirror for the first time without revulsion. I’d never had any reason to try to cover up my scar in the wilderness, so I’d never seen the effect that makeup could achieve. It was quite well done. I felt infinitely more confident that I could get through the rest of today’s shopping.

Bags in tow, we got back in the car.

“Where to next?” Lucy asked, beaming at me.

“You’re the expert,” I said. “And I need everything.”

We went to lingerie boutiques, shoe stores, purse departments, dress shops, and every retailer under the sun. I always walked in wearing my sunglasses, but when I did have to take them off to try something on, nobody reacted unless they were looking at my face. The majority of the workers there were marvelously discreet, studying the way the clothes fit my body rather than me. We started amassing bag after bag of new things, and I wondered how much of a dent we were putting into the Wharton family fortune.

“Believe me,” Lucy said, handing Jonathan’s card to yet another clerk to swipe. “Not even a blip on the radar.”

She plunged her hand into her purse and drew out a vibrating phone.

“Yes?” she asked. “Oh, Mr. Jonathan. Hello. Yes, she’s right here.”

I took the phone and pressed it to my ear. I probably needed my own one of these.

“Hey,” I said, smiling.

“Hey, baby,” Jonathan answered. “How’s your day going?”

“Oh, just blowing your fortune,” I said casually. “Getting lots of new things. Lucy decided I needed everything.”

“I’m glad you took her,” he said.

“Me, too. What are you in the mood to have for lunch?”

Jonathan sighed. “That’s the reason I’m calling. I’m not going to be able to get away.”

“Well, you have to eat something,” I said, frowning. “Maybe I can
bring something to your office. Like an indoor picnic.”

“I’m sorry, Michelle,” he said. “I’m getting briefing meetings all day, going over old transcripts of old meetings, and planning future meetings. I’m booked solid until dinner. We’ll make it a romantic dinner to make up for me missing lunch, okay?”

“All right,” I said, a little crestfallen. I’d been looking forward to seeing him, to showing him my new look. It was heads and shoulders above shabby sweaters and jeans.

“It gives you more time to shop,” Jonathan said.

“More time to spend all your money,” I teased.

“I’ll see you later,” he said. “I love you.”

“Love you.” I ended the call and handed Lucy back the phone.

“It’s good we have more time,” Lucy said. “It seems you need a cell phone.”

“You read my mind,” I said, smiling.

Lucy and I took a break from shopping for a quick bite to eat at a little restaurant she knew. It was filled with cute, mismatched chairs and tables, and all of the china and utensils were different, too.

“The salads here are delicious,” she told me. “You don’t want to fill up too much before dinner. The Wharton's do dinner right, and you won’t be disappointed by the chef.”

“I believe you,” I said. “I think Jonathan put on some weight while he was here the first time.
Of course, he stopped his life of manual labor, too, so there’s that.”

As we waited for our salads, I took my sunglasses off to look around. Maybe Jonathan and I could come eat here someday. I thought he might like it, too.

But as I soaked in the atmosphere, I noticed strange stares. What was everyone looking at? People were gawking at me openly, only looking away when I made direct eye contact with them.

“What’s wrong with her face?” one of them whispered to his dining partner. “It looks like it melted off.”

“Holy shit,” I heard another diner comment. “That lady looks like Frankenstein. A fashionable Frankenstein. Think that would sell well?”

Mortified, I looked down at my hands. It was a mistake to go out to eat. Other people’s bored, roaming eyes would
, of course, fixate on me. I should’ve realized that. Retail clerks wouldn’t notice the concealed scar as much because they had a purpose, something to do. But diners who were people watching would most certainly notice it.

Our salads arrived
, and even the server stared at me overlong.

“That will be all,” Lucy snapped, but her venom didn’t have the same effect on the server, a lanky, longhaired teen, as it did the cosmetic employee.

“Can I ask how you got your scar?” he asked. “It’s, like, comic book badass.”

“Can I ask to speak to your manager?” Lucy mimicked, her fangs fully out. “You’re being rude.”

“You know, I’m not hungry,” I said, feeling faint as I put my napkin on the table. “I think we should probably head back.”

Lucy scowled at the server, who still hadn’t moved a muscle. “We’ll be taking this to go,” she snarled. “Boxes, you fool. To-go boxes.”

“I’ll wait in the car,” I said, jamming my sunglasses on my face and hurrying out. I felt light-headed and devastated. I’d never fit in here. There were just too many people. I couldn’t blame them for their curiosity. The scarring made me stand out in a city full of bodies. But I also couldn’t help my own reaction. The only defense I had against people gawking at my scar was to hide myself away.

I wanted to go back to the cottage.
I wanted out.

Lucy joined me bearing a plastic bag with our salads.

“I’m sorry,” I said miserably. “I think I need to go back to the compound.”

“Don’t let that little shit ruin your day,” she said, surprising both of us with her frankness. “We still need to get you some coats and outerwear
—oh, how about some luggage, too?”